Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Oliver has me bent over, feet planted wide and fixed to the floor. The position tilts my hips above my shoulders, sending too much pressure to my battered breasts.
Now it’s my ass that burns while the rest of me strains from the vibrator secured between my thighs.
Anytime I get too close, his thick paddle finds its mark.
It’s a dance between purgatory and nirvana, of which Oliver Whitney is a ruthless virtuoso.
The tension builds faster than I can bear, and my lungs seize around a scream I can’t release.
Crack!
Pain flares across my backside as another blow lands.
Then another.
Five in total, each more savage than the last.
The sting spreads in a blaze of red that drags me from the edge. Before the ache fades, he dials the instrument of my destruction higher, and I grind against it, chasing a climax he won’t grant.
Sweat beads along my spine.
My heart kicks at my ribs.
Heat swells, ready to boil over.
No, no, no.
I lunge for it anyway, bracing for the inevitable fallout.
Crack!
A fresh set of strikes cut me off from the tipping point. My legs tremble as the impact throttles my muffled groans, even as pleasure carves itself from pain.
He alternates between the two until I can’t tell which is which.
And that’s how this next phase goes.
Torment versus rapture.
Frustration versus arousal.
A crescendo I never reach.
And a fiery descent that won’t extinguish the flames of my desire.
Oliver pushes me to the brink again and again, only to yank me back with another rapid succession of blows. I want to plead for mercy, but my silence holds, locked behind the gag and the last fragments of pride I haven’t let him take.
I’ve lost all sense of time.
Only sensation remains.
I’m beyond exhausted, every nerve lit, tears and saliva slipping from my face. Fear begins to creep into my thoughts, and I’m wondering how much more I can take—how much more he’ll make me take—when he suddenly removes the gag.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Your body knows how to obey.”
“Please, sir.” The entreaty scrapes out through clenched teeth. “No more.”
“Who owns you right now?”
“You do, sir.” As much as I despise that fact, it’s undeniable. There’s a hierarchy in this room, and he’s on top.
“And what about your orgasms? Are they mine or yours?”
“Yours, sir.”
“And your pain. Is that mine as well?”
“Y-yes…sir.”
Though my mouth stutters the answer he wants, I hand him over to the murderess in my mind. I’m so caught up in imagining his slow, tortured death that I don’t realize he’s releasing me from the bench.
He cradles me in his arms, every part of me bent to his will, and carries me into the en suite bathroom. After turning on the water, he guides me to the marble counter and positions me in front of the mirror.
“Look,” he says, angling a handheld mirror at my backside. “This is the color of your need. Isn’t it beautiful?”
I gulp at the sight. Beautiful isn’t the word I’d use, but it’s a testament to his mastery that he can etch such a brutal signature on my body and still leave me drenched. My skin glows crimson, mottled with the imprints of his discipline. Each mark tells the story of my submission.
The massive jacuzzi tub fills beside us, steam curling through lavender-scented air. Oliver strips before lifting me into the water and sliding in behind me.
“Lean back,” he says, arranging me between his thighs.
I sink against him and let the warm water ease my screaming muscles. Bubbles cocoon us in silken clouds as his hands glide over my shoulders and breasts, soothing the ache while heightening a different kind. When his fingers dip into the suds and find the apex of my sex, I whimper, throat raw from screaming and crying.
“Please, sir.”
“Shhh.” His lips brush my temple. “Relax, close your eyes. I’m going to take care of you now.”
His fingers burrow into my folds, holding me at the pinnacle, coaxing pleasure from a place of transcendence. I arch into his touch, toes trapped in a continuous curl.
I want to let go, but after weeks of denial, followed by the excruciating hours of his dominance, I cling to the edge by a frayed thread that refuses to snap.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He hooks a finger into me, stroking a spot I can’t resist, while his thumb circles my clit. “You’ve earned this.”
When I finally shatter, it’s with a sob that comes from somewhere deep inside. The release crashes into me like a soul-shaking exorcism. Oliver embraces me through it, murmuring praises.
The relief is overwhelming, devastating, and…
Beautiful.
Just like the scarlet hue of my ass.
I’m still trembling when he lifts me from the water and wraps me in a plush towel. He carries me to the massive bed at the center of his sanctum, each step lulling what’s left of my nerves.
The sheets welcome my fevered skin, cool as silk on a winter day. Sleep tugs at me, promising the kind of deep rest that’s eluded me since my world slid off its axis. Even as he splays my thighs, I’m ready to let it pull me under.